


when you're happy;

by unintentionallyangsty



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Siblings, Wayward Leaves Zine, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 01:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14391438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unintentionallyangsty/pseuds/unintentionallyangsty
Summary: the holidays after the boys' return from the Unknown turn out to be a little more...complicated than Wirt had originally anticipated, and he finds himself becoming frustratingly apathetic with the entire affair at best--and stiflingly overwhelmed, at worst.luckily, this is something he doesn't have to go through alone.





	when you're happy;

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so very excited to be able to post my work from the spectacular [Wayward Leaves Zine!](https://waywardleaveszine.tumblr.com) it was such an honor to be able to participate in this spectacular production. the Mods worked so hard to make everything happen beautifully, and deserve all the best in the world. definitely go and check it out!

It started with little things; traditions that used to be second nature, gestures, etc.

Thanksgiving wasn’t so bad, Wirt would admit. Other than the somewhat uncomfortable questions; and the hot, questioning (but, thankfully, silent) glances from concerned and curious relatives. These, he would concede, he could have lived without.

It was following this, Wirt believed, that things had started to become more….difficult. Christmas, for lack of a better term, had swept in and hit like a speeding train, and Wirt had felt it; every bit of it, potently and irrevocably. 

Meals were suddenly a challenge, the food sticking thickly in Wirt’s throat with every bite, taking all his willpower to simply swallow without grimacing outright. Things were simply Too Much, he had begun to think. Too loud and _chaotic,_ demanding of an attention they had not fully earned. It was insensitive, he’d decided. As if everyone was somehow supposed to magically enjoy the sudden celebration of the upcoming holiday 24/7. The laughter and crowded super-markets and loud, grating music… 

Greg, it seemed, was as enthusiastic about the entire affair as he had been the year prior, more capable of understanding the fanfair now than he had been at 5 years-old, and seemingly incredibly excited to be a part of it.

Wirt, on the other hand, had found it a little harder to get into the total spirit of things.

“You’re not much of a Christmas person, are you?” Sara had asked near the middle of December, having watched Wirt glare balefully at the man outside the mall standing, bell in hand, and singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs.

“What?” Wirt had sputtered, feeling his face beginning to heat, but unsure of how to stop the progression. “I--There’s nothing wrong with Christmas! I don’t--I like Christmas just as much as--I don’t know why--”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Sara had cut in, extending a hand to place it, warm and comforting, at his elbow. “You don’t have to.”

“But it’s like…” Wirt had begun, his throat constricting slightly at the combination of Sara’s hand still firmly gripping at his elbow, the crowded mall entrance, and the continued carols being bellowed just outside the door. “People _like_ Christmas. Like, birthdays and ice cream and stuff. It’s just...people like it.”

“Okay,” Sara had conceded with a shrug, “But _you_ don’t have to.” as if it were that _easy_.

And, truthfully, Wirt thought, it might have been, had he not been faced with such a strong and gripping sense of unease and guilt at the idea of facing Greg’s own, unflappable enthusiasm with his own lackluster apathy.

He was a failure, he decided one evening as he sat, threading popcorn halfheartedly onto a string for future placement on the pine tree now sitting in the middle of their living room. Not only was it enough that he had almost let Greg...had almost made a catastrophic mistake, that past Halloween? But now here he was, watching Greg beam at the growing amount of Christmas decorations within their small living room, and still having the gall to feel as tepid as he currently did about the entire situation.

_Useless,_ he thought grimly, stringing another bit of popcorn onto the line with particular force. _I’m just a useless failure. Can’t even let Greg have something that makes him happy without messing things up. He deserves better. I--_

“Wirt?” Greg’s voice cut in, effectively interrupting the thoughts and drawing Wirt roughly back to the present; the fire crackling merrily in their fireplace in the corner, the scratchy wool of his socks in the pleasant warmth, and Greg’s eyes, wide and expectant, trained solely on him.

“What--Greg, what?” Wirt cocked his head and grimaced a little apologetically, unsure of whether or not he’d missed a question or comment, as lost in his thoughts as he’d been.

“That’s okay.” Greg dismissed easily, offering a small smile and shifting so that he was sat, legs crossed, at Wirt’s side, mirroring his posture and position and plucking a piece of popcorn from the bowl between them. “You just look sad.”

“What--Greg, that popcorn’s old and cold. You shouldn’t be eating it.” Wirt commented disapprovingly.

“It’s okay. Just kinda bland...and crunchy.” Greg made a face, narrowing his eyes slightly before leaning forward to pluck another piece and pop it in his mouth. “So why are you sad?” he asked around the mouthful of snack.

Wirt sighed slightly, moving to place the popcorn bowl pointedly further from reach. “I’m not...sad. I’m just thinking.” He finally answered.

“About Christmas?” Greg chirped eagerly. Before visibly sobering a bit. “You don’t really like it, huh?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Wirt exclaimed, shooting his younger brother a bewildered expression.

“Cause you don’t?” Greg responded, his brow furrowing in honest confusion. “Every time you see Santa in the mall, or hear a Christmas song, or have to watch a Christmas movie, your forehead does that funny, wrinkly thing.”

“It doesn’t--” Wirt paused, raising a hand to run it along his (admittedly, somewhat furrowed) brow before huffing a bit and continuing, “I like Christmas just fine, okay, Greg? It’s fine.”

“Is it because of the wall?” Greg insisted, voice dropping into a small, hushed whisper that made Wirt’s heart twist slightly. “The lake and the turtles and--”

“ _Greg_ ,” Wirt interrupted, his breath catching in his throat.

“And Beatrice?” Greg continued, as if Wirt hadn’t spoken. “Is it because of that?” he paused, glancing down to study his small hands where they sat, tangled in the fleece of his pajama bottoms at the knees. “Is it because of me?”

“What?” Wirt demanded, immediately, his heart constricting further at the words. “Greg, no! It...it doesn’t have anything to do with you! Why would you--”

“Am I just messing it up again?” Greg insisted, rising so that he was sat on his knees, tears (to Wirt’s abject horror) beginning to pool in the corners of his eyes. “I am, aren’t I?”

“No!” Wirt yelped, surging forward to grip at Greg’s hands tightly with both of his own. “Greg, it’s….it’s a lot of things.” he finally admitted with a small sigh, his gaze flitting away to study the fire in the corner of the room, for a moment.

“What kinds of things?” Greg demanded.

“It’s…” Wirt sighed again. “Things are....loud. And--And pressing and just...a lot. It’s a lot...Does that make sense?” he ventured, swallowing against the sudden lump that had formed in his throat and turning back to take in Greg’s somewhat glazed expression.

“Like…” Greg furrowed his brow a bit before continuing, “Like Aunt Ethel’s questions? At Thanksgiving? Or Uncle Dave’s or Grandma’s?”

Wirt huffed a surprised laugh, an unexpected warmth blossoming in his chest at the moment of total perception from his small brother. “Yeah,” he croaked, swallowing again. “Exactly...like that.”

Greg nodded, still looking a little confused, before his face took on a determined expression. He rose so that he was sat, elevated by his knees, and gripped Wirt’s hands tightly within his own. “Okay, Wirt, ol pal!” he cried, brightly.

Wirt blinked, suddenly a bit out of his depth at the unexpected reassurance. “B-but,” he stuttered, “Don’t you--I don’t know. Don’t you like...like Christmas?”

“Yeah!” Greg nodded enthusiastically, a grin working its way back onto his face. “But you don’t have to! I like having you as my brother, better. And I like when you’re happy, best!”

There was a beat, before Wirt felt his throat tighten dangerously, his eyes beginning to sting as the words sunk in. Without another word, he fell clumsily forward, wrapping his arms around Greg’s shoulders and drawing the smaller boy into his lap in a fierce and desperate embrace.

“It’s okay, brother!” Greg cried, patting his arm affectionately, before squirming a little at the continued stillness.

Wirt chuckled a bit, squeezing his eyes shut and holding on a moment longer, suddenly aware that now, for the first time in months, he was finally starting to believe the words.

“Yeah it is, Greg.” he murmured, softly. “It really is.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! xx


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